


Twenty Years Thyme

by ICarryDeathOnMyWings



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Agnes dies, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley works at a flower shop, Crying, Cuddling, Gen, HMCWTIYS, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Sweet Ending, he's been hurt a whole bunch, mentioned surgery, she's still a witch tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:33:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29213469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ICarryDeathOnMyWings/pseuds/ICarryDeathOnMyWings
Summary: Crowley has to say goodbye to most of the people in his life at one point or another- until a certain blond-haired angel stumbles into his life.This is a human au that I made sad, sorry y'all.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 30





	Twenty Years Thyme

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for usedtobehmc's write this in your style fanfic! I picked image three from her original post about the contest and I'm pretty happy with how this turned out. 
> 
> If you want spoilers (a summary, really) please go to the end! I also get sappy down there so that's exciting as well.

Crowley hated endings but he was, unfortunately, good at them. His father left when he was six years old, just old enough to wonder, to  _ question _ where he’d gone off to, why he wasn’t coming back, if it was all Crowley’s fault. As he got older he’d find out that no, it wasn’t his fault, it was the alcohol, but it didn’t make the hurt any less. Then it was the kids at school. Crowley had always been different from everyone else; his mother tried to make it seem like a good thing. The quirks that made him stand out, like his inability to focus or the lisp he had that made it sound like he hissed, made him special. She would say, one day he would change the world. For the longest time he believed her, but as he got older and his friends slowly disappeared he realized it was all just talk. 

Kids were cruel. Everyone knew that. Nothing major ever happened, at least not enough to go to an adult to explain what was going on. It was small, passive-aggressive things that built and built and built until Crowley didn’t recognize the people he ate lunch with. One day he realized that somehow they’d all become the best of friends while he was a stranger. It was a realization that stung. It hardened him, just a little bit. He couldn’t control other people but he could sure as hell control himself. Saying rude things and being short with people often got them to steer clear, which was all well and good to Crowley. He didn’t need anyone but his mum anyway. She was always there with tea and biscuits, a shoulder to cry on, and listened to him speak without trying to play Devil’s advocate. 

“Fuck ‘em.” She had said on one memorable occasion, “You don’t need them anyway. They’ll only hold you back in the long run. You’ve got things to do, love, and assholes like them have no place in your life.” 

Crowley was overjoyed when he finally got to leave for college. It was one of the endings in his life that he was grateful for. 

She waited until the summer before he left for college to leave him. Of course, that implied that she had a choice in the matter. She didn’t. When his mother left it wasn’t like his father. Surgeries, as it turned out, were more than a little unpredictable. 

“Smooth sailing.” The doctor told them. He was sat at the desk across from them with a gentle and reassuring smile on his face, “We do surgeries like this all the time and the success rate now is very high. You’re young too, that always helps.” 

This was true. He was eighteen and his mother fifty-five. This also meant that even though getting open-heart surgery at that age was rare, the outlook was good, even if her condition was chronic and unpredictable. 

“It isn’t as if I’ve got a choice.” Crowley’s mother looked over at him and took his hand in her own. “We’ll do it as soon as possible, before you go. You’ll help me with recovery and then by the fall I’ll be good to be on my own again.” 

“I’ll move away to college and you’ll never sssee me again.” He teased to cover the fear in his voice. 

“Don’t go making promises you won’t keep.” She teased right back. 

The day of the surgery came and went. It went well, they told him. She’ll be awake soon, they said. 

They were fucking liars. 

Crowley’s mother never woke up from the surgery. He was naive to think that it would all be okay, that  _ open heart surgery  _ would be smooth sailing. Doctors had no fucking idea what they were on about and they took his mother from him. 

“I’ll see you when I wake.” She said before they wheeled her to the OR. 

Well, she was a liar too. 

Crowley didn’t end up going to school that semester, nor any semester after that. His mother had written her will only a week before going into the surgery- almost like she  _ knew _ that it was going to happen; left him the flat and a good chunk of money. At least enough to keep him happy for years to come. Most of it still remained untouched, even all these years later. 

At eighteen he was utterly alone. As far as he was concerned both his parents were dead; he wasn’t about to go looking for his father even if the bastard was alive. He had the flat in Mayfair that his mother had left him and all the plants that resided within it. It wasn’t easy, but having the plants helped a great deal, they added life and color to his otherwise gray existence. It gave him something to do, and for that, he was grateful. It was easier to talk to them than it was most people, especially since he was now more isolated than he ever had been before. Even with all the odd jobs he had been picking up. 

Crowley wasn’t very good at… settling. It was something that had gotten him in trouble a lot in school. Doing one thing at a time was just… it wasn’t easy for him. His mind wandered, there were a million other things that he wanted to be doing other than sitting and learning things that wouldn’t matter in just a matter of months. It was a similar mindset that made the idea of getting a real job and  _ sticking with it _ so unappealing. So, he did odd jobs. The pay was awful and on a few occasions, he had to dip into the money his mother had left him, even though he hadn’t wanted to. It was that or go hungry. 

For two years he would take jobs when he found them. Mostly he was hired by word of mouth, someone heard he was good at moving boxes from a friend who heard it from a friend who heard it from- well, you get the picture. 

It was never easy. Most days he desperately wished he could get a break.  _ You can _ , a voice in his head hissed at him,  _ all that money you were left if you just _ \- he was always quick to dispel that voice. He’d make it on his own or not at all, thank you very much. His mother had believed in him and fuck if he was going to disappoint her, even if that meant moving boxes for a cranky old woman who lived on the fifth floor of an apartment building without an elevator or fucking air conditioning, it seemed. It was summer and unusually hot for England. His shirt stuck uncomfortably to his back but at least he was done for the day. The woman pressed the money into his hand and promptly shut the door in his face. 

“Well, fuck you too.” He muttered to the door before making his way out onto the street. It was still early, he could try to find more work to do but… a day off sounded nice, especially in this weather. Maybe he’d get a 99- 

“Lemonade?” 

“What the fuck!” 

There was a woman at his side who definitely had not been there before, holding out a class of what looked like wonderfully cool lemonade. Her hair was tied into a bun on the top of her head, though a few strands of curly gray had slipped out of place and framed her face, and she wore a green apron tied snugly around her waist. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how old he thought she was. She was older, maybe only sixty? It was impossible to tell. 

“Language, young man. Do you want this or no?” She pushed the lemonade towards him again and, hesitantly, he took it. 

“Thanksss.” Was spoken curtly. 

“You’re not as mean as you make yourself seen, are you, Anthony? Come along, now.” She said, gesturing a few doors down. 

“How the fuck do you know my name?” Crowley balked. Not only had he not told her what it was, he mostly introduced himself as Crowley (stopped going by Anthony after his mother).

The woman who had yet to introduce herself (and she wouldn’t for a little while yet, though eventually, he would come to know her as Agnes), just shook her head and tsked at him, not even dignifying him with a response. In fact, she seemed so confident in herself that she started back up the street, towards a shop that could only sell one thing: plants. From where he was standing on the street Crowley could see a large metal stand of some sort with hanging plants swaying from a rod on top with several more shelves of plants below it. It looked like it was rolled in and out every day. He stood for a moment, watching her figure move away. 

She halted, throwing over her shoulder, “Are you coming or not, boy? We have much to discuss and you need to begin learning how to run my shop.” 

He looked at the glass of lemonade in his hand, thinking his options over in the few split seconds he had. Fuck it, what did he have to lose? He hurried after her and noticed as he ducked through the doorway that the shop was called, ‘Twenty Years Thyme’. 

~~~

“Witch,” Crowley hissed under his breath, roughly wiping away at his tears as they trickled down his cheeks. It was his first day back to the shop since Anges had kicked the bucket (a crass term to anyone who didn’t know her. Really, there was no other way to put it, and anything less may have offended her and there was no way Crowley was risking a haunting). 

“I bet you think you’re real fucking funny, huh? ‘Twenty Yearsss Thyme’? Would never tell me what the fuck it meant but you knew! You fucking knew thisss whole time and you jusst-” He slammed his hands on the counter, shoulders shaking with the effort not to cry. 

Not long after Crowley had met Agnes he realized that she was special. A right proper witch she was, what with her seeing the future and going on about ‘auras’. Crowley hadn’t believed in any of that until her. She showed him things, taught him and her granddaughter, Anathema, how to use the plants and crystals and anything else she thought they would find useful. She told them everything she had seen that was in the past (“That day we met wasn’t an accident, then?” “Oh, no. I knew about that for years.”), but never about things that were going to happen. Even though Crowley asked her what the meaning behind the name of the shop was every day for  _ twenty years _ she wouldn’t say. Of course, the shop was s reference to her own passing. She’d always been one to face things head-on, with grace and dignity. 

Crowley was going to miss her so fucking much. 

Agnes had left the shop to him despite him saying he didn’t want it. 

_ “No handoutsss, Anges.” He mumbled, holding her hand in his own. She was in hospice, had been for a few days.  _

_ “Not a handout. Don’t trust anyone but you.”  _

_ “Not even Anathema?”  _

_ “ _ Especially _ not Anathema.” A thin smile found its way onto her face. Everything about her these days was thin.  _

_ A weak chuckle escaped from him. Unsure of what to say he just raised her hand to his lips, kissing the back of it before setting it on the bed again, by her side.  _

_ “Alright, you old goat. But only becaussse I can’t bear to sssee it in anyone else’sss handsss. Don’t you worry, I’ll take good care of it.”  _

_ “I know you will, my boy.”  _

_ He stood, knowing this might well be the last time he saw her, and headed towards the door, “Oh, Angesss?”  _

_ “Yes?”  _

_ “What’sss the name mean, anyway?”  _

_ “Get thee out of here, menace.”  _

_ He laughed for the first time since she’d been brought here, “I’ll sssee you ssssoon.”  _

_ “You will.”  _

He didn’t know how he was going to do it. The funeral had happened a month and three days ago, he was now the only worker (ignoring that Agnes hadn’t really helped in two years and he’d really been alone for all that time) and there were orders to finish, plants to prune, rent to pay and- 

The bell above the door made a tinkling sound as it was pushed open. Quickly, Crowley shook himself, straightened the green apron he had tied around his waist, and fixed his sunglass covered eyes on the person who had just entered the shop. 

“Can I help you?” 

The man’s gaze landed on Crowley and immediately he smiled like he was happy to see him. It was odd, and just a little unsettling. Crowley had never even seen this man before and he was smiling as if they knew each other? Yeah, no thanks. But… well, he was awfully cute, wasn’t he?

“Yes!” The man grinned, making his way closer to the counter Crowley was certainly not hiding behind. “Oh, my dear man, have you been crying?” 

Immediately, Crowley’s hand went to his face where he once again wiped his cheeks, which were certainly tearstained and blotchy, “What of it? You want sssomething?” 

Internally, he cursed. What a fucking idiot he was being. There was no need to be rude to this man who looked so incredibly soft and cuddly and- fuck. Well, it wasn’t his fault that whoever this person is came right from Crowley’s fantasies. He was round around the ages, looked a little aged, and his clothes well… his wardrobe could really do with some updating but it seemed to fit whoever this mystery man was so well that Crowley couldn’t be offended by the tartan bow tie.

“To be honest, no.” The man laced his fingers in front of himself, looking at Crowley almost sheepishly, “I just… I’ve heard wonderful things about your shop-” 

Crowley caught him just before ‘Agnes’ shop’ slipped past his lips. It really was his shop now, wasn’t it? 

“And well, you were closed for so long. I was surprised to see you open! I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about.” 

Crowley narrowed his eyes, “And who are you then?” 

“Oh! I own the bookshop at the corner!” The blonde man grinned, obviously proud of this. Crowley got the distinct feeling that, given the chance this, stranger would babble on and on about his books. 

Crowley would listen. 

“I’ve passed it a few times.” Leaning forward a little to get a better look at the man, he held out his hand. “Crowley, by the way.” 

The man beamed, “Oh! Pleasure to meet you, Crowley. I am Aziraphale.” 

“Riiight… I’m jussst going to call you angel.”

“Angel?” 

Crowley didn’t answer, just grunted his affirmative. It was the hair, he thought. So blonde it was almost white. Or maybe he was old enough to have white hair… didn’t seem likely though and some people’s hair turned when they were younger. Crowley made a face, mostly at himself. What was he doing, thinking about things like that? It didn’t matter why the man’s hair was such a wonderful shade of-  _ oh for the love of. _

“Angel.” He confirmed. “You keep anything?” He asked, gesturing to the room around him. It was filled to the brim with all sorts of flowers and greenery, potted or otherwise. 

“Oh, no, brown thumb I’m afraid.” 

“Hm.” Crowley picked up a plant that he knew would be easy for Aziraphale to care for and pressed it into his hands, “Maybe I can come by and remind you to water it.” 

Luckily, Aziraphale wasn’t an idiot and seemed to know that Crowley was (trying) to flirt with him, “I think that would be quite nice.” He took the plant, held it close against him like he was cradling a baby, and smiled. 

That smile. Crowley had known this man for all of five minutes and was already gone on him, what a fucking idiot. He wondered what Anges would think. She had always hated the people he brought around, and boy was she vocal about it. It wasn’t like it mattered anyway. They, like most everyone else he knew, left, making sure to tell him it wasn’t them, but him. One person had told Crowley his lisp stopped being endearing and moved to annoying a month into what Crowley had thought to be a good relationship. 

He hadn’t seen anyone since then. 

But Aziraphale seemed different. He seemed worth the risk of caring and opening up even though the thought terrified the redhead. 

“That’sss ah, great.” Crowley smiled softly, “I’ve got to get back to work but- I’ll-” 

“When do you close?” Aziraphale inquired.

Crowley told him. 

“I’ll see you an hour after that, then. You know where the shop is?” 

After a quick conversation confirming the time and place, Aziraphale left, new plant in tow. Crowley watched him go, and as the door clicked shut he jumped up and down in victory, pumping his fist in the air. He had a fucking date! A date with a handsome, kind man who hadn’t remarked or pointed out any of Crowley’s flaws. Never had Crowley wanted something to work out more than he wanted this. 

~~

It was good. Fuck, it was so wonderfully good. For the first time in, really, all his life Crowley felt like he could be himself in every way. No need to hide behind the sunglasses or try to change his lisp. Aziraphale liked every part of him and made sure to tell Crowley that as often as possible. Sometimes it got overwhelming, the first time Crowley had slid his sunglasses off he watched in horror as Aziraphale, always one to watch his manners, openly stared at him. 

“Quit it,” Crowley mumbled, making a move to put the glasses back onto his face. 

Aziraphale quickly reached over, putting a hand on Crowley’s to stop him, “Please don’t, my dear. I just think you’re beautiful. I do believe I’ve been rendered speechless for the first time in my many years.” 

And if that didn’t make Crowley fall just a little bit more in love. 

But it was more than that, of course, it was. How shallow would it be to love someone (and yes, it had only been six or so months but damn it, Crowley  _ knew _ ) based only on how they treated you? No, it was the way Aziraphale wiggled when eating something that was particularly delicious, or how he could spend hours talking about his books, or the way he went out of his way to help someone in need. Really, it was just… everything about him that made Crowley’s stomach do flips whenever they were together. Which was quite a bit. 

In all his past relationships Crowley had been so worried about being overbearing, or clingy, or any number of things but with Aziraphale that didn’t seem to matter too much. He wanted to be with Crowley just as much, if not more. It was great. It was perfect. Until, of course, it wasn’t. 

A favorite pastime of one Anthony J. Crowley was overthinking. He was quite good at it, really. Or maybe being good at overthinking wasn’t really a good thing after all. Didn’t matter, what  _ did _ matter was he was  _ thinking _ and the more he thought the more he realized that he would never be enough for Aziraphale, that one day, probably sooner rather than later, Aziraphale would realize that he wasn’t worth the trouble anymore. 

Aziraphale would leave, just like everyone else. 

Maybe it was foolish and short-sighted of him but Crowley wasn’t going to wait around for that day to come. He was in control of his own life, thank you very much. A decision was made, for better or for worse, that this would end on his own terms, not Aziraphale’s. 

Opening the bookshop with one of the only two keys in existence, Crowley found himself hesitating but he played through all the things past partners had said ( _ You’re too much to handle. Your voice is weird. I want more than you’re able to give. You’ve got too much baggage. I didn’t think we were that serious. _ ), things he’d heard his own father say to his mother, and steeled himself for what was to come. He set the key beside the register and headed to the backroom. 

“Aziraphale?” 

“Over here, dear.” He poked his head out followed by his body. In his arms there was a stack of books that he set down on the nearest surface, probably to take care of later. When he made his way over to Crowley to give him a kiss in greeting, Crowley moved back a little. It caused him physical pain to do so. Aziraphale looked so pretty, his blue eyes wide, hair fluffy, a baby blue tartan jumper making him look like a walking cloud. Crowley wanted to curl up on his lap and never leave. 

“Everything okay?” Aziraphale searched Crowley’s face, a frown etched into his features. 

Was everything okay? Crowley could back out of this if he really… no. No. This was what he wanted. 

“I jussst wanted to… talk.” 

“Oh.” Silence stretched out after that and after a few beats of discomfort, Aziraphale gestured to the couch, “Have a seat then.” 

Crowley settled, crossing one leg over the other but no slouching like he usually would. There was no point because he wasn’t going to be staying. Rip the bandaid off, leave before things got out of hand and he lost his nerve. 

“We sssshould break up.” 

Aziraphale stared blankly at Crowley, letting the words wash over him, mulling them over like he would a fine wine, “I see.” Eventually passed his lips. 

“That it then?” Crowley stood, having been sitting for all of thirty seconds but he couldn’t stay. 

“Wha- do I not get a say?” Aziraphale asked with a frown, “I don’t want to break up! Why- why do  _ you _ ? Is there- can I fix it? Or-” 

The resolve that Crowley had was cracking. Aziraphale looked three seconds away from crying and those tears gathering in his eyes were because of Crowley. Swallowing thickly, trying to think of a way to worm out of the situation he’d gotten himself in, he shook his head, “‘fraid not.” 

Aziraphale stood up as well, moving to stand in front of Crowley, “Dear boy, I just want to know why. Tell me that much, please.” 

Crowley looked at Aziraphale for a long time when the dam finally broke. He doubled over, one hand going to his stomach as he felt sick for no good reason, the other to his knee to brace himself, and  _ sobbed _ . Years worth of hurt came pouring out of him, no matter how hard he tried it wouldn’t fucking stop. Not until he was shaking and when had he gotten to his knees? Aziraphale had a hand on his back moving it in soothing circles while Crowley cried like a fucking baby. What was he doing? He was here to break up with Aziraphale because he was the one in control of his own life and- his body shook with another sob. 

“Crowley-” Aziraphale whispered, “Will you come upstairs to my flat? I think some tea is in order.” 

“I’m here to break u-up with you-” Crowley’s words hitched and caught in his throat as he tried to stop the tears, “And you’re offering me  _ tea _ .” 

“I could kick you out if you prefer but I am quite fond of you, boyfriend or not. Will you come up, please?” 

“Sssuppose sssso.” Carefully, Crowley got to his feet with the help of Aziraphale. Once he was up Azirapahle took a respectful step back and headed upstairs. Crowley waited for a few long moments, taking stock of himself. His face was puffy, probably as red as his hair. Overall he felt swollen and a little bit like shit. Why couldn’t Aziraphale just be mean? Make this whole thing easier? Despite wanting this to be over as quickly as possible, he wandered upstairs for tea, still intent on leaving the building a single man. 

There were two cups of tea already on the table when Crowley finally walked the steps into Aziraphale’s home above the bookshop. Apparently, he’d been in reverie for much longer than originally planned. Aziraphale was sitting across from an empty chair, sipping at his cup and staring at an old coffee ring stain on the table. Crowley settled across from him, hands in his lap, not really sure what to do with them. 

“Do you really want to break up?” Aziraphale asked, more into his cup than to Crowley. 

Without thinking about what he was saying or doing Crowley shook his head, “I- no. I don’t.” 

“Then why-” 

“Becaussse if I end it now it’s eassier.” Finally, he gripped his cup tight between his fingers, almost worried that he would break the porcelain if he squeezed too hard. “I don’t want you to decide you don’t-” His voice stopped, got stuck in his throat, and refused to leave it. He didn’t know if Aziraphale loved him or not but the thought of Aziraphale  _ losing _ that love one day was… it was destroying him, quite frankly. 

Aziraphale frowned, that adorable crinkle finding its way between his eyebrows. Crowley loved that little crinkle. He loved Aziraphale. 

“You think this is… hurting you less? My dear, I don’t mean to be rude, but are you stupid?” 

Crowley blinked, taken aback for a moment, “Am I-” 

“I’m perfectly sure you heard me correctly. Crowely, I’m smitten with you. There’s not a single thing about you so far that I don’t like, except for the fact that you leave your dirty mugs in my sink, refuse to put the toilet seat down-” 

“Angel, we’re both  _ men _ -” 

“But those aren’t who  _ you _ are, my dear.” Aziraphale continued on like he hadn’t heard Crowley at all, “It’s the risk of relationships, isn’t it? Falling out of love. I don’t expect it to happen but-” 

The world ground to a halt around Crowley. Now his heart was hammering for an entirely different reason. There was no way. This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen at all! 

“Do you love me?” Hands shaking, he stared at Aziraphale with slightly wide eyes, dreading whatever the response may be. 

Aziraphale shifted on his seat, no doubt pulling on the ends of his vest, “I suppose I must do.” 

“Right.” Crowley had to set his mug down or else risk the tea sloshing out the sides with how much he was shaking. Fuck, this did throw a wrench into his plans didn’t it? Oh, well, fuck the plans at this point. He didn’t really want to break up with Aziraphale anyway, and obviously, Aziraphale didn’t want to break up with him. 

“I, uh, I- same.” He mumbled, staring at the table, the same coffee ring stain that Aziraphale had been earlier. 

Again, silence settled between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable per se but it wasn’t how their time together usually was. He took a deep breath, trying to decide on his next move. Would Aziraphale even want to try this now or had Crowley fucked it up so bad that there was no coming back from it? 

“Well, that’s good to hear,” Aziraphale said softly His voice was so soothing and gentle and it washed over Crowley and made him feel just minutely better. He just took a long sip of his tea and when he swallowed it sounded much too loud in the silence of Aziraphale’s flat. Luckily, having always been the one to lead the conversation, Aziraphale forged ahead. 

“We’re not breaking up then, are we?” He asked, “I certainly don’t want to but… if we do intend to continue with this arrangement, I do believe we should discuss this whole ordeal.” 

Crowley agreed. Aziraphale kindly let him gather his thoughts before the stream of consciousness started. Once his mouth was open, Crowley just couldn’t stop it. He told Aziraphale about his father, the strangers at school that were supposed to be his friend, his mother, and how angry he still was even after twenty-two years, all his past partners, and finally, Anges. By the time he was finished the sun had settled low behind the horizon and at some point, they’d moved to the couch. Crowley was sprawled out as he usually was and Azirpahale was leaning back, looking quite comfortable. Between them, their knees pressed together and their interlaced fingers sat atop them. 

Throughout the whole ordeal, Crowley kept his composure pretty well, letting only a few tears fall. Aziraphale never interrupted him, never pushed or prodded while Crowley spoke, even though sometimes Crowley would go quiet for a few moments at a time. He never felt pressured. 

When things had settled again, Aziraphale took a deep breath from his nose, “Thank you for trusting me with that.” He murmured, squeezing Crowley’s hand tightly in his own. 

It was the best response Crowley could have hoped for. He hated the pity on people’s faces if they happened to find out his mother had died. It was part of the reason he didn’t bring it up, he didn’t want to see Aziraphale’s face full of pity. He didn’t need it, not then and not now. But of course, Aziraphale knew exactly what Crowley needed. Always did. 

Nothing else was said, not for a long time and they didn’t move either. The silence was back to being comfortable which made Crowley want to hunker down in the moment and never forget the way he felt right then. Safe, warm, understood, and loved. But eventually, he’d have to go home, wouldn’t he? 

“Will you stay the night, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, keeping his voice a whisper. 

“I would like that.” 

They got ready in silence. It wasn’t the first time Crowley had failed to make his way back to his own apartment for the night. By now they were quite comfortable around each other in pretty much all respects. 

“Would you like to borrow a shirt?” Aziraphale asked after having put on sleep pants, standing before Crowley, gloriously shirtless. 

Shaking his head Crowley crawled onto the bed in only his underwear. He flopped down, holding his arms out for Aziraphale who chuckled fondly, “I would like to cuddle you instead if that’s quite alright.” 

That was very quite alright actually, Crowley decided. After Aziraphale got onto the bed, he pulled Crowley close. From where Crowley was laying, with his head resting on Aziraphale’s chest, the only things that were audible were Aziraphale’s soft breaths and the beating of his heart. Without realizing what was happening, Crowley was crying again, softly, quietly, but enough for his human pillow to notice. Immediately Azirapahle’s arms wrapped protectively around him. 

Why had he almost given this up? How could he have been so stupid? 

“I love you.” Crowley sniffled out. It felt right to say it. He  _ did _ love Aziraphale, more than he thought was possible. Loved him so incredibly much it stole his breath away sometimes. 

“I love you too.” Aziraphale’s response was accompanied by a kiss to the top of Crowley’s head. 

“You know, the day we met was twenty years out from the day I started working for Anges-” There was something else he was going to say, something he wanted to add but the words, the day, it all clicked in his mind and made him gasp. 

_ Twenty Years Time _ . 

With tears still in his eyes, Crowley let out a wet laugh, “Oh, that witch.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Crowley's father walks out when he's six (allusion to alcoholism, only mentioned in passing), his friends are lowkey bullies that purposefully exclude him from activities effectively making them strangers to each other and making Crowley just a little bitter. His mother has open heart surgery and dies when he's 18 (off-screen tho it's pretty sad and talk of surgery). Agnes dies (he visits her when in hospice and the funeral is mentioned briefly). All his partners blame him for their relationships not working out. He tries to breakup with Aziraphale but they don't. I think that's it. 
> 
> Sappy: Well, well, well. I hope, if you made it this far, that you enjoyed the fic. It's certainly one of the heaviest I've written. I was inspired by finally watching the series finale of Supernatural (things ending, get it?) and my own life, to write this. My parents are both still alive and happy, I've just translated some other events to better fit what Crowley's got going on. This was pretty cathartic for me to write. Anyway!! If you liked, please leave a kudos and comment, they make me feel all warm and fuzzy :)


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